


La petite mort

by DustySoul



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Love, M/M, Paddling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Spanking, Sweet/Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 16:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11406174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustySoul/pseuds/DustySoul
Summary: Navigating love and sex and trauma.





	La petite mort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mara_jade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mara_jade/gifts).



> For FandomTrumpsHate

His hands are bound in the prayer tie.

They never bound the Winter Soldier. They never needed to. They could have never found anything strong enough.

He’s blindfolded, staring into the black fabric.

It’s calming.

They never let the Winter Soldier sleep, never let it rest its eyes.

“Color?”

“Green.” He responds without needing to think.

He’s standing on tiptoe, ass in the air, stretched out on their bed, arms reaching before him.

Steve runs a hand from the inside of his knee up to grope his ass. He shivers, instinctively retreating from the caress, but is prevented from the pose.

Abruptly that wandering hand turns into a stinging slap that has him moaning and pushing forward for an entirely different reason.

Steve runs his blunt nails over where he’d just smacked.

“You’re beautiful.”

His breath hitches and with the next slap, he’s able to exhale.

Steve gives him a moment to recover, hand just resting on his hip.

“You’re brave.”

Smack.

“You’re strong.”

Smack.

“You’re resilient.”

Smack.

He’s gritting his teeth, eyes screwed shut. A small whimper escapes.

“Color?” Steve idly scrapes his nails across the reddening flesh.

“Green.” He gasps.

Another hit, much harder.

He exhales all at once, mouth falling open.

Steve doesn’t let up.

“I love you, more than anything. I love you, and I’m not afraid. I love you, and there’s nothing you can do to push me away.” Steve peppers his words with aggressively heavier and heavier slaps to Bucky’s ass.

Steve pulls away, confident enough now to not need a check in.

Bucky breathes shallowly, anticipating. The crop? The whip? The belt? The cane? The paddle? He didn’t have any particular preference, and what mattered much more was how Steve intended to use the tool he chose.

He hears Steve return, a soft hand on his hip warns him of the impending blow.

It’s a thudding, heavy hit with only the smallest amount of sting. The paddle, then. He and Steve warm up with the new toy in silence, punctured only by the sounds of his moans and deep breathing.

When Steve begins his praise it is a whisper. “I love you, Buck.

“I love you more than anything. You’re my world, Bucky. My everything.”

He cries out.

Steve brings the paddle crashing down on his ass over and over again, but does not continue to speak.

The hard blows allow the words to sneak in past his armor, self loathing, aussurity of abandonment, fear of attachment, fear of unconditional love, fear of being a good man, fear of Steve and everything Steve makes him feel.

“I almost lost you.” Steve says, and his voice is hollow.

The blows gentle, come slower.

The hits are sloppy, when one misses him all together, bouncing clumsily off the bed spread, Bucky says, “Color?”

He hears Steve take a deep breath, “Yeah.” He says, “Yeah, it’s time to stop.”

Steve climbs up on the bed, takes off the blindfold, undoes the restraints.

As soon as he’s free Bucky climbs into Steve’s lap, peppers his face with light, little kisses.

Steve doesn’t hold him back, doesn’t react to the mouth pressing against his cheeks, his forehead, his brow, his lips.

“I love you, you dumb punk.” Bucky rasps.

“I thought… I thought you were dead.” And Steve comes alive, pulling Bucky into a hug that leaves him winded.

They rock and hug and kiss.

Steve is frantic, meeting every caress, pushing into every kiss. He gasps and whimpers and cries. Bucky screws his eyes shut, his heart hurting at the sounds and hurting with the proximity of Steve.

He makes his mouth say the words “I love you” but can’t put his breath behind it. He knows Steve hears him anyway.

It’s an eternity, on fire, wrapped up in each other. The frantic edge slowly fades, Steve’s tears no longer fall.

There’s a breath where Bucky’s pushed onto his back, dazed and languid, Steve over him and between his legs. They stare into each other’s eyes and simplely breath.

Steve breaks the moment, pushing in for a kiss that pushes away every cold place inside of Bucky. Bucky moans.

He pulls a bit at the hem of Steve’s t-shirt, heart racing and breath catching. Steve pulls it off and Bucky pulls him down. Chest to chest, skin to skin.

He’s hard, they’re both hard. Steve’s still in his jeans but when Bucky tries to reach for Steve’s zipper he fumbles.

Steve’s warmth is like standing in the sun after living in a cave all your life. It’s wonderful, it takes his breath away, and it’s terrifying, and it burns.

“Want you. Want you.” He hears himself chanting in between kisses.

“You have me.” Steve tells him.

“Please.”

“Anything.”

Bucky takes a few deep breaths. “Want you inside of me.”

Steve doesn’t freeze or tense or lose the slow buzz of their rocking bodies. “You’re sure?”

He can only nod.

And Steve leans in, and barely brushes his lips across Bucky’s.

Steve has to break away to fumble in the night stand for condoms and lube, before fumbling of his jeans and boxers.

He sets the supplies aside, returning his attention to Bucky’s body. He kisses and strokes and licks, and every time it feels like the sweetness is going to pull him away, pull him out of himself, Steve bites. The pain grounds him in his body, keeps him from being overwhelmed. He’s quickly squirming under Steve’s attention, alive and wanton.

He moans when a strong finger, slick with lube, presses against his entrance. He hadn’t even noticed Steve slicking up. Steve eases that digit in and out, flexing and searching for the sweat spot inside of Bucky. It isn’t enough, it isn’t enough. And then he hits it. Bucky goes completely limp before arching his back into each stroke.

Steve adds a second, then a third finger. They move together in pleasure. It’s almost a hypnotic dance.

Bucky finds he’s blubbering, “God, Steve. Yes, please, more. God, I love you. Steve. Steve. Steve.”

And Steve’s smiling down at him, occasionally dropping little kisses to his chest. He doesn’t dare break the spell with sweet words Bucky still flinches against.

When Steve pulls out, Bucky fells empty. But it doesn’t last long before Steve is pushing in with his cock. He searches for Bucky’s pleasure, instead of seeking his own. Bucky can feel the way Steve moves. There’s something about that which sets him on edge, makes him uneasy, like the kind words and the love that just shines from Steve. It takes his breath away, to know that caring for Bucky, loving Bucky, beating his ass black and blue with a belt because Bucky asked, is what Steve wants to do. Loves to do.

He can’t form words, just moans shamelessly. His eyes are closed, because looking at Steve’s face while being fucked by him would be like looking into the sun.

Steve stills, and Bucky can feel Steve’s dick pulse inside of him as he comes. It has Bucky clenching down around him, his balls tightening.

“Look at me.”

Bucky cracks one eye open. Steve’s sweet damp, radiant, and smiling a small, lopsided smile just for Bucky.

Steve rewards Bucky’s compliance with a hand on his dick. All it takes are two firm strokes and Bucky’s coming.

His whole existence over come pleasure. It leaves him in a daze. He’s filled with wonder at how good he can feel and how good he can make Steve feel.

He comes back from the la petite mort, with Steve whipping the come off his belly was a cool wash cloth.

“I love you.” Bucky mouths at him, unable put breath behind the words.

Steve kisses him, soft, gentle, loving, and ending in a sharp bite.

It’s perfect.


End file.
